


Stubborn

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, episode-related, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “If you’re gonna insist on dragging me to your dentist tomorrow, then I’m dragging you to the pub, book to read or not.”</i>
</p><p>Post-ep fic for <i>The Indelible Stain</i>; spoilers for that episode and generally for S6, so read at own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stubborn

“If you’re gonna insist on dragging me to your dentist tomorrow, then I’m dragging you to the pub, book to read or not.”

James stares at the unexpected visitor on his doorstep, for once in jeans and Newcastle United football jersey. “I don’t even like football, sir.”

“I don’t much like dentists. You’re still makin’ me go.” Lewis tugs at his arm. “Anyway, not like football? Don’t talk nonsense.”

“I-” James falters, unsure what arguments he can muster in his defence without making his boss suspicious – or any more suspicious than he possibly already is. It’s very unlike him to turn down an invitation for a pint, and if he protests too much Lewis is going to dig. And dig.

“I know I didn’t make it sound all that appealing – sweaty pub an’ all – but I’ve never known you to turn down a pint.” Lewis stretches upwards and cranes his neck, and before James realises it his boss is looking past him into the flat. “Don’t see any books anywhere, unless you actually said _bottle_ to finish and I misheard you?”

James takes a deep breath, exhales, then meets Lewis in the eye. “You know you didn’t.”

“So?”

He shrugs. “A man can have a drink in the privacy of his own home, can’t he?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lewis nods. “Trouble is, I’ve been there, done that, mate. It’s not a solution, no matter what the problem is. I didn’t find solace in the bottom of my bottles. Only hangovers.”

Irritation ripping through him, James looks away. “I don’t get drunk.” The words are clipped, bitten off.

“Maybe you don’t. Still not good for you to drink alone – especially when you’ve got a better offer.” Lewis’s tone is mild, showing no reaction at all to James’s annoyance.

“A sweaty pub and a football match?”

“Come on, it’ll do you good.” Lewis wraps his hand around James’s wrist and tugs. “You really don’t want me to make it an order, do you?”

 

***

“You know, there’s a lot of interesting research on the psychology of group behaviour among complete strangers gathered together to watch a sporting event-”

“What are you jabbering on about?” Lewis doesn’t even turn to look at James as he pokes him with his elbow. “Did you see that? That was a foul! Ref’s bloody blind!”

“Possibly he shares a fear of medical professionals with you, sir? In his case, reluctance to visit an optician?”

“Yeah, yeah, smartarse.” Lewis stretches to look at the TV again, tenses, and then mutters a curse when the striker fails to score. “Y’should call me Robbie. Not sure I want to be sirred when I’m havin’ fun.”

“Following that logic,” James comments, “I should call you Robbie when you’re making me write your statistical reports.”

“You can try it. Better just hope the Chief Super doesn’t walk in.”

James winces. “Another pint, _Robbie_?”

Lewis grins. “You’ve twisted my arm.”

“It’s probably the only chance I have of sensible conversation in this pub.” James turns to flag down the barman.

 

***

Newcastle loses, and Lewis’s – no, _Robbie_ ’s – tooth is hurting again, and James is preparing himself for a grumpy companion on the way home. Instead, Robbie steers him out of the pub with a cheerful commentary on how the invention of the big-screen TV revolutionised football-watching.

Instead of walking straight to his BMW, Robbie jerks his thumb along the street. “Fancy a walk? We’re close to the towpath here and it’s a nice evening.”

 _Here it comes_. If he didn’t know his governor’s methods after almost seven years as Robbie Lewis’s bagman, he’d deserve demotion to the ranks. This is where Robbie begins a gentle conversation, which will lead into some gentle probing, and then on to some serious digging as to what’s going on with James lately. It’s all too predictable.

And easily avoidable: all he has to do is insist on going home.

Instead, he finds himself saying, “Why not?”

Surprisingly, there’s no conversation at all until they’re on the towpath. And then, when it comes, it’s abrupt and very direct. “What’s up with you lately, James? I know you’ve never been particularly sociable, but over the past few months you’ve got more and more withdrawn. Workin’ till all hours too many nights. I was startin’ to wonder if you’re lonely, but then you turn down my invitation tonight an’ I find you keeping company with a bottle of Scotch.” Robbie stops walking and turns to James. “Talk to me.”

“Sir-” Lewis waves a hand, and James halts, momentarily confused.

“I’m not askin’ as your governor. I’m askin’ as your friend.”

“Right.” James stares down at the ground. Decision-time, then. It’s not as if he hasn’t known this was coming. Robbie’s been giving him rather more assessing looks than usual in the last several months, and of course there was that _find yourself a partner_ conversation.

He shuffles his feet. “Buggered if I know.”

“Another bout of existential flu?” Robbie lays a hand against his back. “Come on, James, if you can’t talk to me who can you talk to?”

He sighs, finding himself involuntarily leaning into Robbie’s touch. “Nobody at all.”

“Work? Personal life? I know you were thinking about leaving the police last year. And, for all that you like to give me relationship advice, you’re not the most talented when it comes to making romantic advances, are you?” The sympathetic smile on Robbie’s face softens the impact of the words.

James starts walking again. “Work? I meant what I said then. If you go, I go. _When_ you go, I go. I like the job, but...” He kicks at a stone. “Not enough to do it without you. And if that sounds pathetically needy, then I’m sorry.”

Robbie falls into step beside him, and his hand’s across James’s back again. “Might not be all that healthy, and I dare say Innocent wouldn’t approve, but I’m not sure I’d want to do it without you either at this stage. Got used to each other, haven’t we? But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” he continues without waiting for an answer. “By the time I’d been a sergeant as long as you have, I was getting itchy for promotion. For a so-called high flyer, I’m not getting the feeling that you’re all that interested in an inspector position.”

James stares out across the canal. “As I’ve hinted, I came to the conclusion some time ago that what interests me about the job is working with you. Without that... well, when you retire I’ll be resigning. Doesn’t bother me particularly,” he adds casually. “You really don’t need to worry about me. I’ll probably return to university – if I can’t get a research post with my BA, I’ll just apply for an M.Litt or PhD.”

Robbie snorts. “Not Oxford, then?”

James turns to look at his boss, a grin sneaking across his face. “I'm impressed! You actually know Oxford doctorates are D. Phil.”

“I have been in this city more than thirty years,” Robbie says dryly. “Might not think much of academics, but I’ve learned a lot more than you might think about the university.”

“You have.” James pats Robbie’s back, and for a moment they’re walking together with their arms practically around each other, before James lowers his.

“So if it’s not the work, then it’s your personal life. You never talk about things outside work – I had to figure out for myself years ago that you’d been seeing Fiona McKendrick, and it was all over by then. Another disappointment in love?”

This is far more intrusive than Robbie’s been in years – but it’s not as if he didn’t expect him to push, even if he didn’t expect this level of directness. “What makes you think I’m even interested in romance?”

It’s Robbie’s turn to shrug, and he lets his arm drop. “If not that, then companionship? Someone to come home to?”

“Yes, I do recall that you think I need someone.” His tone’s dry and, he hopes, discouraging.

“It’s no more than you’ve suggested to me a time or two,” Robbie counters lightly. “Like earlier, pushing me to ask Laura out.”

James falls silent; he’s done his bit on that front, regardless of his own inclinations. If Robbie really isn’t interested, that’s his choice.

“James? I can’t believe there’s nothing bothering you. Come on – working till all hours, drinking alone, me having to drag you out tonight, all these gloomy moods you’ve been in... I do worry about you, whatever you say. An’ just in case you think I’ll stop worrying about you after I retire, you can think again.”

“Really?” He glances sideways at Robbie again. “You’ll be moving north, won’t you? You’ll leave all this – and me – behind.”

“Dunno about that.” Robbie’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Oxford’s me home. I think I’ve lived here for too long to be comfortable anywhere else. So, to be honest, I’d quite like it if you did go for that D. Phil.”

James’s heart’s suddenly beating very quickly and very loudly, so much so that he almost looks at Robbie, worried that he can hear it. But Robbie’s casually glancing around as they continue strolling. “I...” He falters, swallows, then says, “I could probably do that. Even if it is England’s second-best university.”

“Good.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes briefly. “I’d miss my drinking and footie companion if you left.”

“Drinking’s fine. Not so sure about the football.”

“Ah, go on with you. I’ll teach you to appreciate it.”

“Only if you let me teach you to appreciate an art exhibition.” James turns to Robbie, lips curving in a smirk.

“James.” Abruptly, Robbie’s gone serious again. “I enjoy your company, you know that. But even though it’d mean I’d see less of you, I just wish I could see you fall in love with someone who deserves you and would be good for you.”

“God.” The name’s muttered on an exhale. James swallows, finding a lump in his throat. “Why does it-” He breaks off; he knows why it matters to Robbie. Robbie found the love of his life – lost her too, of course, but has no regrets. Robbie’s fond of James and wants to see him find the same happiness.

Finally, he says, and despises the choke in his voice, “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“You have? Someone who doesn’t love you back,” Robbie guesses. “That’s it, isn’t it? Don’t know what’s good for them.” The hand on his shoulder presses again. “Said you should have someone who deserves you. Whoever this is clearly doesn’t.”

“Not their fault,” he says immediately.

“No?”

“Stuck in the past,” he says, and instantly wants to bite his tongue off. “Look, forget-”

“James.” Robbie halts, and grips James’s shoulder tightly, forcing him to stop as well. “Do you mean what I think you mean?”

He has to exhale a couple of times before he answers. “You’re the senior detective. Sir.”

“James, I’m not... I’ve never been...” It’s so obvious that Robbie’s grasping for ways to let him down lightly. James has to interrupt.

“It’s fine. Please, forget I said anything. I think it’s time I went home.”

“No. Not like this.” Robbie’s barring his way, and not letting him go. “Come on, you can’t tell me something like this and just expect me to ignore it!”

“I really can.” James makes one more attempt to sidestep.

Robbie prevents him this time by putting his whole body in James’s path. He reaches up, grips the back of James’s head, and tugs him down. Before James’s brain has caught up with what’s going on, Robbie’s kissing him.

It’s nothing like the fumbled kisses he’s had in the past, with the few men and women he’s had short-term relationships with. This is a kiss from someone who knows what he’s doing and likes it, too. Robbie Lewis, experienced husband and lover of Valerie Lewis, James reminds himself. And what is this? A pity kiss?

“Not bad for a first attempt.” Robbie’s broken the kiss and is giving James an assessing look, one eyebrow raised. “Reckon you could use some pointers, but then you’re lucky you’ve got me to give ‘em to you.”

James blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Maybe I’m not as stuck in the past as I thought. Or as straight as I thought either.” Robbie gives him a lopsided grin, then grimaces as his tooth stabs him again. “Thought I should at least make the effort – I mean, it’s not as if we don’t act like an old married couple half the time anyway. I’d say it’s got potential.”

“You mean...” No, Robbie can’t mean what James is starting to think he means.

“You really need it spelling out?” Robbie sighs. “Have I taught you nothing? You had the makings of a good detective until half an hour ago. Yeah, I’m willing to give it a go – _us_ a go. Mind, we’ll have to keep it quiet down at the station, so you’ll have to restrain yourself from any pet-names or groping, you hear?”

He’s speechless, utterly incapable of a single word. So he does the only action that seems feasible at the moment: he reaches for his boss and kisses him again. Thoroughly, this time.

And, yes, it’s definitely got potential.

It’ll be even better once Robbie’s kept that dentist appointment and they don’t have to be quite as careful with the kissing.

 

**\- end**  



End file.
